


Unexpected

by mldrgrl



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, Pre-Ep: My Struggle IV, Pregnancy, Scully POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-18 03:00:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14203593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mldrgrl/pseuds/mldrgrl
Summary: Pre-episode Scully POV for My Struggle IV





	Unexpected

It starts with mood swings.  Everything seems to come at her in rushes and extremes.  One minute she’s crying at a commercial for cat food, and suddenly she finds herself raging about a jar of peaches that won’t open.  When she’s tired, she’s not just tired, she’s exhausted. When she’s awake, it’s like she has more energy than she’s ever had in her life.  She can be annoyed and amused at the same time. 

 

If that wasn’t enough, the hot flashes take her suddenly and aggressively.  She’s been fortunate enough to be at home for most of them, but the final straw is when one hits on the road.  She has to have Mulder pull over the car so she can step out into a frigid New England winter day to find some relief.  After a few weeks of feeling like she’s been coming out of her own skin, enough is enough. Convinced she’s suffering a hormonal imbalance of the menopausal variety, she makes a call and moves up her annual exam with her doctor.

 

It was only a mere six months ago that she was in a paper gown and stirrups, discussing her missed and irregular periods, sudden headaches, decreased libido, and dry skin.  She’s been mentally prepared for some time that hormone replacement therapy would be in her future. It would seem that time is now.

 

She left work early to come to her appointment, telling Mulder she had a few errands to run and she’d see him at home later.  She tries not to fidget in the doctor’s office, but she’s felt mildly nauseated for most of the day and it’s been hard to keep her eyes open.  The longer she sits and waits for her doctor to tell her what she already knows, the more likely it is that she’ll have to beg off going to Mulder’s and just stay at her own place since she’s not sure she can stay awake for the hour and a half needed to drive out to Farrs Corner.  The irony is, she would really rather not beg off going to Mulder’s since she sleeps far better there than anywhere else.

 

“Dana,” Doctor Mitra says, entering her own office from a side door.  “Thank you for your patience. I wanted to be sure I had the proper results for you before I came in to discuss them with you.”

 

Scully has only been coming to this doctor’s office for three years, not enough time to really know the woman very well aside from the things she’s inferred.  She knows she’s married not only by the ring on her finger, but the photos on the credenza behind her desk. She also has a young daughter, a baby in most photos, but past toddler age in others.  She knows her credentials and work experience from the research she did before scheduling her first appointment.

 

It’s not the superficial information, but Scully’s own personal history as a trained investigator that tells her she’s about to be told bad news.  Doctor Mitra’s voice is too high-pitched, too rushed, too overly-casual for something routine. She blinks too much before she sits down and her slim shoulders are tense.

 

“So, according to your intake sheet, your last period was roughly three and a half months ago,” Doctor Mitra says.

 

“Yes, that’s right,” Scully answers.

 

“And you’ve been sexually active in that time.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I know that the last time you were here we discussed your menopausal symptoms you were having.”

 

“If hormone therapy is now the solution, I’m prepared to go ahead with any plan you see fit.”

 

“The symptoms you’re having now aren’t from menopause.”

 

Scully is momentarily taken aback.  She cocks her head, puzzled, the question of what’s wrong with her on her lips, but then fear descends before any words come out.  Cancer. It must be why Doctor Mitra looks so nervous. No one wants to tell someone they have cancer.

 

“You’re pregnant,” Doctor Mitra says.

 

If Scully felt she was at a loss for words before, she’s certainly speechless now.  The room feels like it gets more narrow and airless. She stares at the doctor with her mouth partially open, her breath caught in her throat.

 

“Dana, I know this news might come as a surprise-”

 

“It’s impossible,” she interrupts, shaking her head.  “What you’re saying is impossible.”

 

“Uncommon, but not unheard of.”

 

Of course, Doctor Mitra is largely unaware of the real meaning of impossible.  Or maybe it’s Scully herself that hasn’t learned. A barren woman couldn’t possibly get pregnant, but did.  Twice, it seems. 

 

“Are you absolutely sure about this?” Scully asks.  “Could it just be...could it be mistaken for something else?  Maybe it’s a false positive.”

 

“The bloodwork and urine sample yield the sample result.”

 

“Can you run them again?”

 

“Why don’t we do this.  Let’s schedule you for an ultrasound next week and take some measurements so we can try to determine how far along you are.”

 

Scully can count the number of times she and Mulder have made love in the last three and a half months.  There was the St. Rachel motel, twice. Three weeks later at his place after finding William. And two weeks ago after their case in New York.  Her symptoms predate the last case, so she can only assume she conceived on that strange and emotional night they returned home from Norfolk.

 

“Seven weeks,” Scully says.  “If I had to guess.”

 

“We can confirm that next week.”

 

“I’m still not quite...I don’t believe I’m pregnant.”

 

“I’m going to give you some literature.  You’ll be considered high risk based on your age, and the fact that you had a placental abruption with your previous pregnancy.  But, you’re otherwise fit and healthy so that’s beneficial for both you and the baby.”

 

The baby.  Jesus Christ, Scully thinks.  A baby. She leaves the doctor’s office rather numb.  Her mind is having trouble processing the news and she’s convinced it’s a mistake.  She stops at a drug store, buys a pregnancy test, and drive’s out to Farrs Corner on autopilot.

 

Mulder is in the kitchen when she comes in.  He’s got pots on the stove, which can only mean spaghetti for dinner.  It’s the one thing he does really well. No, she shouldn’t say that. He does a lot of things really well.  In the past, she failed to appreciate all those little things he did and how much he loved her. In fact, she stood in a church just two weeks ago and promised she wouldn’t fail again.  He looked so happy when she told him she wanted to move forward together. Would a baby change things? Would he want to go through this with her when she wasn’t even sure if she wanted to go through it herself?

 

She stands in the doorway until he turns around and smiles at her, wiping his hands off on a dishtowel.  He’s been home long enough to shower, to change into a soft black sweater and jeans, and make dinner. He looks relaxed and happy.  She doesn’t want to spoil the evening, but she won’t be able to keep him in the dark for long.

 

“Hey,” he says, coming towards her and bending to kiss her cheek.  “You’re just in time. Dinner’s almost ready.”

 

She pulls her bag tighter to her side and makes sure her elbow keeps it closed so he can’t see the pregnancy test.  “I’m just going to change,” she says.

 

“You want dinner rolls or garlic bread?”

 

“Whatever you want to heat up is fine.”

 

He nods, reaches up to stroke her cheekbone lightly with his thumb, and then smiles before he turns away.  She bites her lip and heads upstairs. The lock on the bathroom door has never worked and they never bothered to fix it since it was just the two of them, but she wishes now that they had.  Her hands shake a little as she opens the kit from her bag and quickly scans the directions. She’s not going to be able to hide there for fifteen minutes without arousing suspicion, so she makes the agonizing decision to leave the little stick behind on the counter and to go back downstairs after she changes out of her work clothes.

 

While Mulder serves her a plate of spaghetti, she stares at the clock on the stove, counting down the minutes.  She moves noodles around her plate and tries to pay attention to what he says about weekend plans. Something needs fixing somewhere.  There’s a basketball game on sometime. Some book came in.

 

“I’ll be right back,” she says, getting up from her chair as soon as the fifteenth minute ticks by.  She hurries upstairs and grabs the stick off the bathroom counter. There’s no denying the bright blue plus sign that glows back at her.

 

Hastily, she puts the stick back in the box and the box in her bag.  She goes downstairs to push more spaghetti around her plate. It’s the only thing she can do because she has no appetite.  Of course, Mulder knows immediately that something is off.

 

“Still not feeling well?” he asks.

 

“I’m fine,” she says.

 

“Why don’t you go up to bed?”

 

“It’s early.”

 

“Yeah, well, we’re old now.”  He chuckles lightly. “We almost qualify for early bird specials and day napping.  So, if you want to tap out early on a wild night of spaghetti and bad TV, you go right ahead.  Oh, wait, I think the youngins are calling it Netflix and chill these days.”

 

She knows he’s joking, but he’s also right.  They’re not young, they’re old. They could be a few years away from being grandparents.  Grandparents, not parents. 

 

“I think I will go to bed, if you don’t mind,” she says.

 

“Course not.  I’ll clean up here and join you.”

 

She’s about to tell him that he can take his time, but that might raise some red flags.  She nods instead and drops a hand to his shoulder when she passes behind him to move upstairs.  He covers her hand with his for a moment before she slips away.

 

Upstairs, she changes again for the second time in less than half an hour, this time into a pair of white flannel pajamas.  Before she buttons the shirt, she stares at her abdomen in the mirror and lets her hand hover over her stomach for just a few moments, but doesn’t touch it.  She leaves the bathroom light on for Mulder and then burrows down into the blankets and pillows and squeezes her eyes shut.

 

Mentally, she does calculations.  If she’s seven weeks along, her due date would be early November.  She doesn’t want to think about how old she’ll be when a child born this year will graduate high school.  Will she have the stamina for late night feedings? For diapers? For terrible twos? For PTA nights?

 

She hears Mulder on the creaky staircase and she tries to relax her worried brow to no avail.  He makes quick work of his nighttime rituals in the bathroom and then slips in behind her in bed and presses against her back.  His arm comes down around her and she sighs. It’s almost embarrassing what the simple act of holding her can do for her mood. She feels instantly safe and unburdened.

 

“Are you gonna tell me what’s bothering you?” he murmurs.  “Or do you need more time?”

 

She should’ve known that he’d know.  He always knows. In some ways, he knows her better than she knows herself.  “More time,” she answers. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Mmkay.”  He pulls her just a little closer and his lips graze the edge of her ear.  “I’ll be here.” 

 

His hand suddenly slides from her hip to her stomach and it feels like something squeezes all the oxygen from her lungs.  She fumbles for a moment to lace their fingers together, intending to pull his hand away, but something stops her. She wants him to know, to just somehow intuit that there is something there, and to explain it to her, because she’s at a loss.

 

“I’ve been thinking about your great leap of faith forward,” he says.  “And I’d like to make one of my own.”

 

“Oh?” she squeaks.

 

“Move back in with me, Scully.  Here, or somewhere else. You don’t have to be afraid of fleeing again, because if there is a next time, I won’t let you go.”

 

She can’t respond to that, so she squeezes his hand instead and folds her lips into her mouth to bite back the tears that gather under her closed lids.  One escapes the corner of her eye and she hears it drop onto her pillow.

 

“Love you,” he whispers.

 

She nods in the dark, hoping he can feel the same hummingbird-like flutter in her belly that she can.  Despite her anxiety, she falls asleep easily, wrapped up in his warm embrace. In the morning, she wakes before he does, kisses his face several times until he mumbles at her and she whispers that she’s going for a walk, they’ll talk when she gets back.  He rolls into the space she leaves behind.

 

It’s a grey morning and the air is crisp.  She dons a hooded sweatshirt and a light jacket and heads outside.  She takes the beaten-down path of dry grass and dirt down to the pond at the back of the house.  Many years ago, Mulder had dragged an old, hollowed out log from out of the woods down to the pond.  It was a good place for sitting and thinking. She takes a seat now, pulling her jacket closed a little tighter, and watches the pond ripple as resident turtles take their morning swim and poke their little heads up out of the water.

 

Eighteen years ago, she had wanted to be a mother.  She was forced to sacrifice that dream in the hopes her son could live a normal, safe life.  Secretly, after things had settled and she had Mulder were no longer on the run, she had spent years wanting another baby, knowing it was a longing that would go unfulfilled.  As much as she wanted it, a bigger part of her felt consumed with guilt for even thinking about it. Even now, allowing herself to want this baby, feels like a betrayal to William.

 

She can’t allow herself to feel that way anymore.  Nothing can ever replace William. She had made so many mistakes with William that she couldn’t make again.  She would never be able to right those wrongs, but maybe this time she could do better. She doesn’t want to think of it as a second chance, but it is.  This pregnancy and this baby are going to have to be different. No more FBI, no more X-Files. And this time, Mulder is here. She will need to allow herself to depend on him and allow herself to share this experience with him.  He deserves nothing less, and...so does she. They both deserve this second chance. This new beginning.

 

Scully gets up from the log and brushes the dirt from her backside.  She feels energized and ready to tell Mulder the unexpected, but welcome news.  Her phone rings and she pulls it out of her pocket. The number is unfamiliar, but she answers anyway.

 

“Scully,” she says.

 

“Dana, it’s Monica Reyes.  I need to tell you something and I need you to listen to me, but I don’t have much time.”

 

The End 

  
  



End file.
